A Man and His Angel
by Vanr
Summary: A series of Destiel oneshots I write when I should be sleeping. 1) Cas and Dean find themselves trapped in a closet... literally and figuratively. 2) Dean takes Cas out for a drive. 3) Cas and Dean go to a bar on Valentine's Day. 4) Dean gets injured on a hunt. 5) Dean plays Cas a song on his guitar 6) Dean gets drunk. Enough said.
1. The Closet

**A/N: I'm starting another fanfic, yay! Although, since it's just a collection of oneshots, I'm not sure that this really qualifies. Oh well.**

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_**In this exciting tale, Castiel and Dean find themselves coming out of the closet in a more literal sense than we would like.**_

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There wasn't supposed to be _complicated_ things during a ghost hunt, Dean thought, somewhat angrily. Ghosts hunts were simple, find the bones, salt and burn, easy. You weren't supposed to get yourself locked in a tiny, tiny supply closet. Especially not with another man.

_Especially_ if that man was Castiel, angel of the Lord.

It had happened anyway, although in Dean's defence, he hadn't had much choice. Ghosts were powerful when they were pissed off, and when the Winchesters and Cas had come storming in with their salt, spoiling the grounds he had died on, of course the spirit got mad. When he was alive, this house had been his pride and joy. Now, the house was old and abandoned, but the spirit of it's previous owner hadn't left.

He had trapped them in a closet.

Dean and Cas were pressed uncomfortably closed, facing each other. Dean could feel Castiel's breath, hot and steady, against his own skin and he could feel his friend's body heat. Cas, for the most part, seemed just as uncomfortable as Dean, but neither of them could move away from the close proximity. The closet was too damn small.

"Cas," said Dean, lowering his voice so as not to seem too loud for the angel right beside him.

"What?"

"We have to get out of here."

Cas paused. He, of course, didn't disagree, but he didn't know how they were going to accomplish that. "How?"

Dean thought. "If…" he stopped. Whatever he was thinking, it either wasn't going to work or Dean was too uncomfortable in voicing it. Cas knew Dean, and from his voice he could tell it was the latter.

"Dean…" he said, warning his friend.

"If we sort of… get closer and then I can kick the door out. Maybe. If you're okay with that." Dean sounded very awkward, and Cas didn't really know why. Yes, it sure wasn't _pleasurable,_ but Dean had been in worse situations, surely?

Cas stepped closer to Dean, so close that their chests were pretty much pressed together, and Cas could feel Dean swallowing as he did so. "Okay," Dean muttered.

"I think I should assist in stabilizing you, Dean," Cas said. There was so little space that they needed something.

"How?" Dean asked, and without uttering a word Cas answered.

He wrapped his arms around Dean, in the strangest hug imaginable. Cas's face was close to Dean's shoulder, and he nestled his head into it a bit, aware but not thinking about the fact that Dean smelled interesting. Like coffee and soap and aftershave.

"Cas…" Dean started, shifting slightly in Cas's grip.

"What?" Cas questioned. If he thought it was a bad idea…

"Nothing. Just… hold on." Dean paused, then tensed up. His foot flashed out and Cas felt the reverberation as Dean's foot struck the door and it rattled in the hinge. Cas's own head had bumped rather unpleasantly into Dean's shoulder, but the angel didn't say anything. He'd never been this close to Dean before, not in this vessel.

"I'm going to have to do it again," Dean said, as if Cas couldn't already tell that.

"I know," Cas told him, voice muffled by Dean's shirt.

"Right…" Dean kicked out again, and a small, slight sliver of light filtered in through the door. Dean sighed, and Cas could feel his shoulders moving up as he did so.

"One more time," Dean said, and kicked again. Another unpleasant bump against Dean's shoulder, but this time, the door opened wide enough for the two men to squeeze out.

They did so without a moment's hesitation, and once they got out, stared at each other.

"Cas?"

"Yes, Dean?"

"Let's try _not_ to do that again."

"Agreed."

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	2. I Can Dig Elvis

**A/N: Lookie, I'm back again! Chapter two is up, I'm so proud! Yay!**

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_**In this exciting tale, Cas discovers his love of Elvis and Dean teaches him how to drive.**_

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"Heya, Cas!" Dean greeted, when the angel padded wearily in. Cas sighed, reached for a mug of coffee (now that he was human, he appreciated all the more) and gave Dean an obligatory, "Hello, Dean."

Dean didn't seemed perturbed. He grinned, and went back into the laptop, sipping at his own mug as he did so. His face fell slightly, and Cas knew that he was researching possible hunts.

"Hmmm," Dean muttered, eyes narrowing, "Sounds like a shojo again." With a small twitch of the lips, he added, "That was a fun hunt."

Cas didn't know if Dean was talking to himself or to the other person in the room, but going by the fact Dean seemed to have forgotten he was there, he figured the hunter was speaking to himself. he looked down at the mug of coffee in his hand and stared at it, looking at his own reflection in the warm brown liquid.

_This would taste better with sugar,_ he decided, and stood up to get some when Sam came into the room, hair wildly tangled with an obvious bedhead.

Dean glanced up, then blinked and did a double take at Sam. "Woah, there, Sam," he said.

Sam grunted and passed his fingers through his mane of hair, and presto! his hair looked normal again. Cas stared at him unintelligably.

With a frown, Sam acknowledged the angel. "Cas?" he questioned.

"How did you _do_ that?" Cas said, not bothering to conceal his awe.

Dean laughed before Sam got an answer, and slammed the laptop closed. "Dude, don't ask. Sam's got- he's got the magic touch when it comes to bedheads."

Sam grinned, slightly proudly, and grabbed another clean mug, filling it up with coffee and milk.

With the moment over, the three men stood around in awkward silence before Dean cleared his throat and asked Cas a question. "Cas, do you know how to drive?"

Cas shook his head, setting his still-full mug down on the countertop. "No. Why do you ask?"

Dean grinned wickedly. "Come on, dude. I'm gonna' teach you how to drive."

Cas swallowed nervously, then followed Dean down the large garage in the bunker.

Dean's Impala was there, all shiny and pretty, but Dean walked right past it, in favour of some car Sam had rented, a little, outdated and cheap Prius.

"Why are we not using your own car, Dean?"

"'Cuz drivin' an old car isn't like drivin' one of these and I don't want you to injure my baby." Dean said this all very easily, but when he unlocked the car, he sent an apologetic look back at his Impala.

Dean lowered himself into the driver's seat, and Cas followed, looking nervously at the man next to him. For the most part, Dean looked light and at ease, but of course there was the dark anger that never seemed to leave him anymore. Still, Dean was happier now than he'd been in a long time, and frankly, Cas would take what he could get.

When the garage door opened, Dean wrestled with the stick for a moment and then pressed the gas pedal down, and they were off, driving through the generally empty streets of Lawrence.

"D'you want some music on?" Dean asked Cas, looking over for a minute with a warm smile on his face.

Cas's heart fluttered.

"Yes," he said, more quietly than normal, but Dean heard him and immediately hit the power button for the radio.

The radio was turned down low, but Cas could hear a low voice singing and a piano playing some chord transitions. He liked what he heard, but couldn't quite understand what the voice was singing.

"Turn that up, Cas," Dean instructed, and Cas followed the order like it was his first lesson in the whole driving scheme and he was desperate not to crash.

"_Like a river flows, surely to the sea, Darling, so it goes, somethings are meant to be."_

Dean made an unhappy sound between his teeth, and frowned slightly. "Elvis," he muttered, seemingly disgusted by the music.

"_Take my hand, take my whole life too, For I can't help falling in love with you._"

"I like it," Cas said quietly. He did. The music was soulful, real, and it was very nice.

Dean blinked, then stole another glance at Cas from the driver's seat. "Elvis, huh?" he said, with a small smile. "I can dig Elvis."

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	3. Valentine's Day

**A/N: Sorry about the change in tense, from past to present. This one just came to me in present tense, and every time I tried to change it my mind kept slipping back into present tense. I'm very sorry about that.**

_**In this tale, Cas and Dean sort of celebrate Valentine's Day.**_

Cas knows there's something up today. Sam had a talk with Dean before the two of them went off for a drive, and Dean left looking uncomfortable and slightly irritable. He'd entered the garage after he asked Cas to meet him there with a huff and a door slam, and had stared at Cas for a good few minutes, eyes darkened and glowering.

Cas says nothing, and climbs into the passenger seat without a word as Dean drops into the driver's seat. They're going out for yet another driving lesson, and although Cas still isn't quite sure how all the intricate road rules worked, he understands enough to get to most places without killing anyone.

He would be proud, under different circumstances, but now Dean was looking tired and unhappy, slumping in the driver's seat, hands clenching at the wheel. They weren't moving yet.

"Dean…" Cas starts gently, reaching out a hand to his friend's shoulder. Dean doesn't react to the touch, although, with a closer look, Cas can see his face soften slightly.

"You wanna drive?" Dean asks. When Cas nods Dean opens the door, not bothering to take his keys out of the ignition. They had finally moved to the Impala, because Dean now trusted that Cas wouldn't crash it and his Baby was much nicer anyway.

They switch seats, and Cas nervously adjusts his hands behind the wheel. He shifts the car into reverse and backed out, shooting glances at Dean every few seconds to judge his reactions. When none of the movements bring a scowl to Dean's face, he figures he's done well and heads off onto the road, driving into town.

"Are we going anywhere, Dean?" Cas asks, not taking his eyes off the road.

Dean shrugs. He could hear the rustling fabric, but couldn't really tell what his friend had done until Dean says, "Let's just go to the bar tonight, okay, Cas?"

He sounded vaguely miserable and of course, Cas isn't going to deny him anything.

After a fifteen minute drive, they find themselves in the parking lot of a dimly lit, probably shady bar. The sign outside was fading neon, and it seemed kinda derelict from the outside. Dean shoved the door open like he'd been there before, and he walks in, Cas following him.

They sit together, in the corner, and Dean orders some special beer that required questions about beer Cas doesn't really understand. Something about hops, whatever that means. Cas just orders whatever was on tap and hopes it's good. Most beer tastes pretty much the same to him, anyway.

The two of them say nothing, merely watching everyone else in the bar. There's a pool table, and a small crowd of guys watching a game of pool. There's a lot of shouting involved, and normally, Dean would be hustling at a game like that but here he was. Watching with a scowl. A young man and a woman drink together at a table, and from the young man's posturing, it's very clear he wants to score tonight. And if her drunken laughter is any indication, he will.

Cas takes a sip of his beer. It was good, more or less, but just beer to him. He drinks some more of it and wipes the foam from his lip, watching Dean as he drinks his own beer.

He's been unusually quiet, and Cas needs to know what's wrong.

"Is something troubling you, Dean?" the angel asks, and Dean glances at him, pulling a weary smile over his face.

"Nah, Cas. I'm fine."

Cas nods. Drinks more beer. "You've been acting differently today. Are you sure you're alright?" He hates it when Dean is upset.

Dean sighs. Drinks his beer to stall a bit. "You know, today's Valentine's Day, and, damn, this is stupid, but it used to be my favorite holiday and now, well, it's just kinda a day and it doesn't mean anything." Dean looks up, at the bartender, who keeps sending them looks from behind the bar. "And since it is Valentine's Day, people are going to assume we're a couple, which is just… weird."

Cas has heard of Valentine's Day. Remembers the last one he acknowledged, with the cupid and- was it Famine?- four years ago.

He doesn't reply. He just touches Dean's hand, gently, reassuringly, and uses his other to sip at the beer. Dean's hand moves slightly underneath his own, flips over, and fingers wrap around his wrist. "They'll definitely think we're a couple," he says quietly.

"Dean, you shouldn't care what they think," Cas replies.

Dean shrugs. He goes back into his beer, but his hand remains underneath Cas's and Dean has started rubbing his thumb in mindless, soothing circles around his wrist. Cas doesn't say anything, but he wonders why Dean is being more… willing than he usually is. Dean will usually shrug off a gesture or a hand, and today? Maybe it has something to do with Valentine's Day.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, Cas?"

"What exactly is Valentine's Day?"

Dean sighs, and the circling thumb pauses for a second. When Dean talks, the movement starts again, and it feels very nice. "Well, it's sorta like, a romantic holiday, you know? Like, boyfriend and girlfriend have an extra special day to celebrate love. Basically, it's just a day that celebrates love." Dean meets Cas's eyes, and his gaze softens. They say nothing, just stare at each other for a few long moments before Dean tears his eyes away.

"Used to be my favorite holiday. But now? Now, I don't really do holidays, I guess. Not since," he stops talking, and thinks. "Christmas, 2007. Before I died."

Cas nods. "I'm sorry to hear that, Dean." His own fingers wrap around the hand below him, so now they're officially, really holding hands and none of that seems strange to Castiel. Not like it should be.

"Yeah, well. Haven't missed much of anything, really." Dean laughs humorlessly, and the conversation is pretty much over.

Dean finishes his beer and Cas's beer, since the angel doesn't really mind the taste much. He pays for their drinks, and holds the door open for Cas when they head out. The gesture is unnecessary but kind, and Cas doesn't question it.

When Dean puts himself in the driver's seat, Cas is relieved. It's gotten dark out and he doesn't want to cause any sort of damage to Dean's baby. Cas clambers into the passenger seat, Dean turns the keys in the ignition, and they're off, heading back home to the bunker.

Cas doesn't question the hand, warm and steady, resting on his knee whenever Dean's not shifting gears. Doesn't question it, and instead, places his hand on top, taking a leaf from Dean's book and rubbing soothing circles into the wrist underneath his own.

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	4. The Accident

**A/N: This is angstier than usual, but I guess I can only go so many days without writing angst. Ah, well. I promise, there is fluffiness at the end. **

**To tell you the truth, I never expected this to actually have more than one chapter by now. And here we are, chapter four. And I already have the last two chapters written. Wow.**

**Shoutout to Death for reading my fanfiction. And no, I'm not getting you any more pie.**

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**_In this exciting chapter of our story, Dean gets badly injured on a hunt._**

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Dean and Sam had left on a hunt a couple days ago, leaving Cas behind with Kevin and Crowley. Kevin, though, preferred to keep to himself in the library, and Crowley was still locked in the basement, leaving Cas alone with nothing much to do.

Sometimes he ventured into the library and found some books. He read Vonnegut, which he enjoyed. He also read an older book called _On the Road_ featuring characters that reminded Cas of the three of them. Sam was Sal Paradise, the main character, he himself was a lot like the elusive Carlo Marx, and Dean, of course, was ever Dean Moriarty. There wasn't even any doubt about that one. He found some detective stories that the Men of Letters seemed to like, but aside from a few of the Sherlock Holmes stories, he didn't really enjoy them.

He also checked out their rooms. Kevin's was dusty and unoccupied, Sam's was neat and well kept. But Dean's, Dean's had been settled. There were weapons on the wall, clothes on the floor and in the drawers, and a guitar on a stand in the corner. A book lay on the table next to the bed, and a bookmark revealed that Dean had actually read some of it. _Ender's Game_. He'd heard of that one. Cas would ask Dean about it when he got back.

But now, Cas wasn't lurking the rooms or the library. He was checking out the kitchen, trying to figure out the complicated looking appliances there. Dean had said he would show Cas how to use them, but he hadn't yet, and since Dean wasn't here, there was no actual food being made. There was coffee in the morning, but precious little else. Just whatever Cas and Kevin could find in the pantry that didn't require any cooking.

He poked at a button on the giant oven, not expecting it to do anything and relieved when it didn't. He flitted over to the stove, and twisted some knobs. The air filled with the smell of gasoline, and with a crackle, a small flame leapt up. Cas watched it for a moment, then turned it off. He still didn't know how to cook.

Kevin wandered in, shadows running deep under his eyes, hair tousled, absolutely exhausted. He sat at the table, slumped, with a mostly empty cup of coffee clenched in his fist.

Cas looked at the other member of their weird little family, but didn't say anything.

Kevin spoke first. "Do you know when Sam and Dean are coming back?" he asked, voice lower than normal.

"No," Cas answered honestly. "Sometime today or tomorrow, is what Dean said before they left, but sometimes they get delayed."

Kevin huffed. "Well, I found something. Apparently, the spell Metatron used to lock up Heaven isn't really on the tablet. He added it as a sort of personal note. So Metatron knows how to reverse it, hopefully." He winced. "He won't reverse it, though."

Cas sighed. Here Kevin was, working day and night to solve a problem he, Cas, had caused. The Winchesters told Cas not to worry about it, but he would never stop owing this prophet. He would never stop owing any of them.

"Is there any food left?" Kevin asked hopefully, interrupting Cas's internal monologue.

Opening the fridge, Cas was very disappointed with what he saw. A couple of burgers, some slightly gross looking hot dogs. "Not much, no."

"Huh."

Cas pulled out the plate, and located a pan. He put two of the hamburger patties on the stove and turned it on. Dean had left then pre-cooked, so all he was doing was warming them up for him and Kevin, thank god. After an indeterminable amount of time, he flipped them over, and deposited them onto buns. He handed one on a plate to Kevin, and kept one for himself.

Kevin took his and ate it, completely plain, nothing but the meat and the bun. Cas found ketchup and mayonnaise, but nothing else he thought would taste good on a hamburger. He ate it, and while the meat tasted pretty good (whether he'd ever admit it or not, Dean could cook pretty well).

It was finished, and Cas was still hungry. But, there was really nothing else to eat, so he sighed and put his plate in the sink, taking Kevin's with him. For his own part, Kevin had taken off, presumable to snatch at some sleep before the Winchesters arrived home.

Cas would have stayed up, but there was no point in that, really. So he padded to his own room, lingering by Dean's and casting longing looks inside, and arrived in his room. He flopped in the bed, not bothering to take off the jeans or t-shirt he was wearing. His eyes drifted closed, and he was fast asleep when the Winchesters arrived.

He didn't stay asleep, because Sam was shouting loud enough to wake the dead.

"Why didn't you _tell_ me, Dean?" shouted Sam, waking Cas with a jump. Dean's response was inaudible, and Sam's reply was just as silent.

Cas shoved himself up, heading quickly and purposefully to the front room. Something had happened, happened to Dean.

When he arrived, Dean was sitting on a chair, face set and pale, arm wrapped tight around his chest. Sam was nowhere to be seen, but he obviously hadn't been gone long.

"Dean?" Cas questioned worriedly.

Dean turned glassy, clouded eyes to Cas, and Cas knew instantly he'd been hurt. "Cas," he answered, voice raspy and tired sounding. He blinked, and swayed in the chair.

Cas was at his side instantly, steadying him against his shoulder and holding him up. "Dean, what's wrong?" he asked.

"Mmm," Dean moaned, eyes closed. He'd gone limp against Cas's support, and when Cas pushed him back to look at his face, he'd fallen unconscious.

His arm fell away weakly, and Cas saw the state of his sleeve. Soaked through with blood, covering the front of his shirt. It was fresh, and Cas knew without a doubt it was Dean's.

Sam arrived in the room, with bandages and pain relievers. Cas looked up, arms wrapped around Dean, and gave Sam a scared, slightly desperate look. "What happened?" he asked.

"I don't know. The werewolf we were hunting must've got him." Sam handed Cas the bandages wordlessly, and watched as the angel lifted Dean from the chair, laying him on the ground gently.

Dean moaned but did not wake, and Cas lifted his shirt. He looked at Dean's wound and faltered. It was wide, stretching across his abdomen, and there was the sight of something darker than flesh that was not supposed to be exposed. He stared down, hands shaking, watching the blood flow wordlessly.

"Sam, c-call 911. Please," Cas whispered, pressing something to Dean's stomach to stem the blood flow.

Sam left the room, and came back in what seemed like no time at all. "Ambulance is 25 minutes away. We're taking him into town." Sam looked worried, scared, and desperate, just like Cas felt but didn't show.

Cas lifted the hunter into his arms, silently offering comfort. When Dean groaned and rested his head against Cas's chest, Cas hugged him a little tighter.

They carried him into the Impala, and Cas laid Dean in the back seat. Sam got into the driver's seat, and they took off, leaving Kevin a voicemail to let him know what happened.

When they arrived, doctors in white immediately took Dean from Cas's arms and he was rested on a stretcher. With a flurry of movement and voices, he was gone, pushed behind swinging doors.

"He'll be alright," Sam said next to him, sounding like he was trying to convince himself as much as Cas.

When the doctors finally let Cas and Sam in, it had been three hours. They said that Dean was stable but still asleep, and that he would be alright with some rest.

They entered the room. Dean was asleep, his face still looking unnaturally pale against the white pillow. The sheet covering him only went up to his waist, and above that, thick bandages were wrapped around his torso, looping once over his shoulder for stability. What wasn't covered by the bandages was exposed, light flesh on a white background.

Sam took the chair in the corner, and Cas took the one by Dean's bedside. He couldn't even touch his friend's hand, because a heart monitor was clipped to one finger, and the IV on the other arm. Instead, he ran his fingers through Dean's short hair, rubbing mindless circles. Over and over.

For a few hours, they just sat there. Sam nodded off pretty soon, and Cas was feeling pretty tired himself when Dean's eyes slowly opened. "Cassss," he whispered, voice low and quiet.

"Dean!" Cas exclaimed, hand stilling in Dean's hair. "How do you feel?"

Dean took a deep breath in. "Alrigh'," he answered, then winced.

Cas wanted very badly to slap him, to do something, but the sight of Dean's pained face stopped him. "Dean, you need to be _careful_!" he cried, aware that his voice cracked and he sounded as tremorous as a child.

Dean softly let out a breath of air. "Cas, I'm a hunter," he said, and wasn't that all the explanation he needed.

Cas sighed softly, then ran his hand through Dean's hair again. Dean leaned into the touch, lips pulling up at the comforting gesture.

"Dean, you need to get some more rest," Cas ordered gently.

"Mmmm," Dean said, and he sounded like he agreed. His arm, the one without the IV, snaked up and his hand closed around Cas's free wrist. "Don't leave me," he requested, already nodding off.

He couldn't quite hear Cas's response, but the tone and the fervor in the answer was all he really needed.

"Never."

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	5. Hallelujah

**A/N: Sorry about the lack of update, I was in Idaho for the past few days and only got back yesterday.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hallelujah, although I think it's a wonderful song.**

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Truth be told, Castiel was surprised by the knowledge that Dean played guitar. Well, that wasn't exactly true. Because when he thought about it, he could easily see Dean playing the guitar. But he wasn't aware that the hunter would have enough time to teach himself something like that. Something that took a lot of time that didn't contribute to hunting at all.

So when Cas heard some music coming from Dean's room, it took him a moment to realize it was Dean, not a record or CD.

Driven by curiosity, he headed to Dean's room, and stood outside to watch. Dean didn't know he was there, which meant he was playing like he was alone, leaning into the notes as his nimble fingers danced along the neck of his guitar, playing chord changes that went up and then back down. Up and back down.

Then Dean began to sing, and his voice was actually not bad. It was warm and smooth, like whiskey and seemed almost effortlessly perfect. No, Castiel wasn't giving him credit, Dean's voice was very nice.

The chords changed, and Dean sang. "_Hallelujah, hallelujah…."_

Cas closed his eyes and listened, listened to the words and the notes. To the music.

"_Your faith was strong, but you needed proof. You saw her bathing on the roof, her beauty in the moonlight overthrew you."_ A pause and a dramatic sounding ascension from the guitar. "_She tied you to a kitchen chair, she stole your throne, she cut your hair. And from your lips, she drew the hallelujah."_

The song sounded more religious than the songs Dean liked, especially because of the chorus. But it was nice, and it suited Dean's singing style perfectly.

He leaned, too, in time with the chords, and watching him was like watching a dancer carry himself across a stage.

"_Maybe I've been here before, I know this room, I've walked this-_" Dean stopped suddenly, the note hanging in the air. Unresolved, unfinished.

Cas frowned, and only then did he realize Dean was watching him, green eyes narrowed accusingly.

"Dean," Cas acknowledged, hoping that Dean wasn't angered by him.

"Were you listening to me, Cas?" Dean asked, sounding dangerously calm.

"Yes," Cas admitted.

Dean blinked, and then set his guitar down. He looked away, and his shoulders slumped slightly. "Oh," he said, quietly. Apparently, his song was not meant to be heard.

Cas didn't know whether or not he should stay or leave. He figured Dean would want him to leave, but something in him insisted that he not leave. He opted for the latter, and moved closer to Dean, taking a seat on the bed beside him. He was curious, having never played a musical instrument before, about how a guitar worked. He also figured Dean would be more comfortable if Cas made a fool of himself on Dean's instrument, but he wouldn't mention that, if Dean asked.

"Can I see that?" Cas asked, gesturing toward the guitar.

Dean looked at him, calculating, and then handed it over. "Don't break it," he muttered, but it was quiet.

Cas held it stiffly in front of his chest, watching Dean's face carefully for a reaction. He was doubtlessly holding it wrong, and Dean noticed. He blinked, and reached out a hand to the body of the instrument, lifting it and twisting it so that it rested almost parallel to Cas's stomach and chest. It felt much, much more comfortable than how he'd had it before. "Thanks," he said.

Dean didn't answer, merely watching as Cas's thumb moved to one of the strings and he plucked idly at it. The sound Cas created was nowhere near as pleasant sounding as any of Dean's, it was too loud and too forceful, managing to sound off even though there was nothing really wrong with it.

Dean winced, then said, "Be more gentle. Softly pull on the string, don't yank it around. It'll sound better."

Cas tried, not applying nearly as much force. It sounded similar, but not as grating, and Cas could tell from Dean's face that that wasn't quite what he should be going for, but for now, it was close enough.

"Dean, how do I…" He trailed off, pressing his fingers to the strange golden colored lines on the neck of the guitar. It was, seriously, like trying to learn a foreign language.

With a small scoot closer, Dean pressed his own fingers to the neck of the guitar, to the area between the golden bands. "Uh… I wouldn't even know where to begin, Cas. Do you want me to just show you _Hallelujah_?"

"Was that the song you were singing?" Cas asked.

"Yeah."

"That sounded nice."

Dean smiled slightly. "Well, Cas, first you gotta make the C chord." Dean's hand directed Cas's fingers to where they needed to go, his third finger above the third little gold line, on the second lowest string. "Press down hard, or it'll sound muted," Dean warned, and Cas pressed down as hard as he could, ignoring the biting of the string into his fingers that weren't used to it.

His second finger went one string higher, one little gold band higher. Cas pressed down just as hard. His first finger went on the second to highest string, and right above the first little gold line. He was immensely pleased with himself, even though he hadn't really achieved much of anything.

"Play the fifth, the fourth, the third, the second, and then go back to the third, and the fourth," Dean instructed. "Like so." He played the aforementioned strings, and although Cas didn't feel very comfortable with it, it sounded alright.

Cas tried, plucking the strings. It was relatively simple, but it sounded heavy and clumsy when Cas played, instead of soft and elegant when Dean played.

"Now," Dean moved his third finger, to the string one higher than his second finger that had previously been unoccupied. He placed it above the second golden line, and said, "This is A minor. Play the same strings as before."

Cas obeyed, and it was a little faster than the first chord he'd tried because he remembered how to do it. Still nowhere near as good as Dean.

"Now back to C," Dean instructed, face carefully blank of all expression. When Cas looked at him blankly, Dean grinned slightly and said, "Keep the first two fingers where they are, move the third finger back to the third fret of the fifth string."

"Fret?"

"It's those golden bar things."

"Oh."

Cas moved his finger back, and played the strings again.

"Back to A minor." Cas obeyed, and didn't think the song could be very hard at all until the next chord came around.

"Now C again."

Cas did that pretty easily, and was right about to start feeling a little proud of himself when-

"F is going to be a tricky one, Cas." Dean frowned. "And there's only a couple ways to do it. The easiest would be to… uh…" Dean faltered, then reached a hand out for Cas's hand, moving Cas's fingers himself. His third finger moved up a string, his second finger moved up a string, and his first finger stayed in the same place.

"Cas, stretch your first finger so that it holds down the first and the second string." Dean pressed Cas's finger down, and it was twice as uncomfortable as the other fingers. As soon as Dean's hand left, Cas's finger lifted off one of the strings.

"Yeah, I figured that would happen." Dean said with a light laugh, moving his hand back. Cas looked away from the guitar, and stared at Dean, and Dean looked back. They were sitting so close to each other, Cas could feel Dean's warm breath and see the unguarded, honest look in Dean's eyes.

They locked gazes for an embarrassingly long time, and when Dean coughed and cleared his throat and Cas dropped his eyes, he still couldn't get rid of the weird, fluttering sensation in his stomach.

Dean reached out and gently took his guitar back, setting it on his own leg and fingering one of the chords he'd shown Cas. He picked the chord, going up and down for a second, then his fingers shifted and he began singing again, "_Maybe I've been here before, I know this room, I've walked this floor, I used to live alone before I knew you."_

Cas leaned fractionally closer to Dean, and his lips turned up in a small smile.

"_I've seen your flag on the marble arch, love is not a victory march, it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah." _Dean closed his eyes, and started leaning back and forth with the rise and fall of the chords.

"_Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah."_ He drew out the last one, and with one last, lingering strum, he opened his eyes and looked up at Cas, a grin plastered onto his face.

"Dean?"

"Mmmm?"

Cas didn't really know what to say. But he figured, since he'd gotten Dean's attention, he had to do something, so he leaned closer, let his smile widen, and said, "That was wonderful."

Dean's grin turned to something more heartfelt and honest, and he looked away. "Thanks, Cas," he said quietly.

The silence that wrapped between them was the most comfortable silence either of them had ever experienced.

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**A/N2: If you're curious, I tried to keep it as realistic as possible, so those are the real chords that I use to play Hallelujah. There's a lot of different strumming patterns, and what I used in the story was a simplification of the version I think sounds best. **

**Shoutout to the people who play guitar in the Supernatural fandom.**

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**Read and review!**


	6. Confessions

**A/N: First of all, I'm sorry for the long update. I have a busy life and that kinda got in the way. My apologies. Ironically enough, this was the first chapter I ever wrote for this story, but I decided to save it for later. You'll see why. **

**Second, this is also doubling as my FroggyClan writing contest entry for our Fluff competition. **

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_In truth, Castiel had always wanted to hear these words, but now, when he did, they didn't seem right at all._

Dean had been drinking again. Cas could smell it, as soon as he teleported into the room. The slightly acrid, cloying scent of booze mixed with sweat filled the air. Dean lay sprawled on the couch, head buried in the crook of his arm, fingers tightly wrapped around a bottle of beer.

"Dean?" the angel asked, touching Dean's shoulder warily.

Dean's head lifted, and his eyes were clouded and distant. For a moment, Dean didn't register that Cas was even there. When he did, his face broke into a large smile and he murmured, "Cas…." with the elation and simpleness of someone who was very, very drunk.

"Dean, what happened?" Cas asked him, gently. Dean drank a lot, on a regular basis. Which meant that it took a _lot_ of alcohol for him to even feel tipsy. Of course, if he was _this_ drunk… something was wrong, something had caused him to bury himself in alcohol.

Dean sighed. He snuggled deeper into the couch, and let his eyes flutter closed. "I drank too much," he slurred tiredly. "Go 'way, Cas."

With a rustling of fabric, Cas sat on the couch near Dean's feet. Dean didn't say a word, but Cas was okay with that. Dean would spill, eventually.

Cas was right.

"It's just… today's my birthday, and I wasn't- wasn't feeling like partyin'." Dean sighed again, much more soulfully than the first time. He seemed to take comfort from Cas's presence, solid and warm and _there._

"Today's your birthday?" Cas repeated. He didn't really understand the idea behind birthdays, but he understood that they were marked days and celebrated by humans.

"Yep. January 24th, 1979." Dean seemed disappointed, somehow, although of what, Cas couldn't know.

"Happy birthday," Cas said, only slightly dryly. Dean was drunk, very drunk. He wouldn't notice.

He may have not noticed the sarcasm, but there was obviously something on his mind. He sat up, dropping the empty beer bottle unceremoniously onto the ground.

"Hey, Cas?" Dean started. His eyes cleared a little, but they were still the same vacant, cloudy green as before.

"Mmm?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Yes?"

"Have you ever… loved anyone? I mean, like, how Sam loved Jess or like… you know, how married people love each other?" Dean's eyes were wide, he was sincere. Drunk or not, he apparently really wanted to know.

"I don't think so, Dean," Cas answered. "I mean, I haven't- I've- I've never _loved_ anyone, not really." _I've never loved anyone but you,_ he thought, but held his tongue. Someday, someday he would tell Dean, but not today. Not today, when Dean looked as though he was barely keeping himself up, when it was his birthday and he was so drunk he didn't realize what he was saying.

"I did, once," Dean said. "I mean, yeah, Lisa, but I didn't- like, I wouldn't have gotten married. She was like, a really close friend. But when I was, I dunno, around 24, there was this girl named Cassie."

Cas didn't know about Cassie. Didn't know anything about her, and he was intrigued, and maybe a little bit hopeful. The only girl Dean ever truly loved had a name very similar to his own, apparently.

"She was beautiful, and really smart, and she was funny and witty and _absolutely perfect._ But I told her about the family business and she left me." He grinned a little, a small, rueful smile. "Prob'ly wouldn't have worked out anyway. But still, she was the first person, not family, I ever loved."

"Do you still love her?" Cas asked. Because that smile said he'd gotten over it, but his words, his words said otherwise.

"Not anymore," Dean said, with a frown directed at Cas.

The frown confused him. Why, what had caused it?

Dean quieted down for a second. "I really, really want to hate you, you know, Cas?"

Huh. Odd subject change. But Dean, being Dean, needed no explanation. "I really do. You keep trying to do the right thing, and that's great, but people die when you do and that's not so great. And you always, always leave me. Every damn time. You always come back but I know someday you won't and that scares the _shit_ out of me." Dean looked down, at his lap, at his hands folded in front of him.

Cas, for one, didn't really know what that meant. He suspected, but… "Why?" he asked, gently, softly, scooting close enough to Dean so that he could smell the alcohol coming off his breath.

Dean didn't seem bothered by the breaching of his personal space. "Because, you asshole, I love you."

And if Cas had gone into this conversation expecting anything, this sure as hell wasn't it. His mouth opened, in shock, and he said, "W-what?"

Dean looked at him, looked at him sideways, with an expression that was surprised. Apparently, the fact that Cas hadn't known came as a shock to Dean. "Yeah, I thought- I thought you'd figured it out. I thought you kept leaving me because you didn't- didn't-" Then, his eyes, those stupid, beautiful eyes, filled with tears and Dean said, "But you _kept coming back_ and let me hope, and then you did something, with _Meg_ or _April_ and I told myself there was no point in trying but then you would do something or say something and I let myself hope… Stupid. Can you believe it?" He stared up at his angel, eyes wide.

Cas's heart thumped in his chest. Dean, the Righteous Man... could it be that Cas's feelings were reciprocated after all?

"Dean, I-" Cas began, trying to offer some sort of explanation, but Dean cut him off.

"No. That's okay. You don't need to explain yourself to me. I mean, look, I'm just some high school dropout that can't even handle the emotional stress of his own fucking birthday."

"No, Dean, listen-"

"Cas, don't." Dean slumped back down onto the couch, hiding his face from the angel. "Please, just leave me alone."

Cas relented, for a few minutes. He did not leave, but he didn't speak either, and eventually, Dean's breathing evened out and Cas was sure he had fallen asleep.

It was that action, the darkness in the room and Dean's closed eyes, that gave Cas the courage to do what he did next. Dean's face was turned away from him, a pained expression on his face, but Cas elected to ignore that for the time being and gently, chastely, he pressed a kiss into Dean's slack lips. He tasted like beer and blood, but Cas didn't regret the action at all.

"I love you too," Cas explained, in a low, gravelly whisper he hadn't really intended anyone to hear. "You idiot."

When he looked at Dean's closed eyes, he found instead green, green eyes meeting his own. They were wide, surprised, and almost painfully tentative and hopeful. "Really?" Dean asked, not even bothering to conceal the desperation in his voice.

Cas couldn't help it. He smiled, then laid one hand on Dean's shoulder, on the skin where the handprint scar he'd left so long ago used to be. "Really."


End file.
